Balancing Act
by TresMaxwell
Summary: Steve/Tony suggested, rated more for dark content. Steve knows something is wrong with Tony, he's learned to recognize that fake smile. After everyone else is gone, Steve finds Tony in a very precarious position. One-shot. Angsty because I'm angsty right now. I needed to vent.


Steve knew why he went back and it wasn't the stupid cellular phone everyone kept telling him he needed to carry around. He'd left it on Stark's bar during the party, though he didn't typically take it out of his pocket. Even Banner had given him a strange look when he checked the time on the faceplate and set it next to his beer. There was something about Stark's behavior during the engagement party that made Steve give himself an 'in', a reason to come back into the tower after everyone else was gone.

No one expected Tony to be in supremely high spirits considering his ex was marrying his driver, but Tony had a smile plastered on his face the entire night. He laughed with his guests, toasted Pepper and Happy, and even stole a dance with Ms. Potts (soon to be Hogan). It looked fake to Steve and it bothered him that no one else seemed to notice.

He and Tony were cordial at best when they weren't arguing like a 'pair of old maids', as Natasha put it. There was a lot of respect between them, since Steve seemed to be the only person Tony ever took orders from and Tony had the skills and tech to back up all the bravado he sported. Loki's invasion had changed Steve's view of the man. When Stark made the sacrifice, took the bomb into another dimension as if it was just another day at the office, Steve was impressed. He didn't think the spoiled brat had it in him, but now that he'd worked with Tony nearly a year, he knew otherwise.

Steve stepped into Stark Tower quietly, looking around for the owner. Vestiges of the party clung to every room like a houseguest that had overstayed its welcome. There were cups and plates and white confetti on the surfaces and remnants of beautiful decorations on the walls. In the typical, Stark style, Tony had thrown a party worthy of the Oscars. There were arrangements of white orchids and gold-embroidered cloth on the ceiling, gathered around a chandelier installed just for the event. Food tables with a cornucopia of offerings sat along the wall of each room, the theme changing from room to room. Seafood in the entrance made way for exotic spiced meats in the sitting area, which changed to brochette and stuffed mushrooms in the library.

Steve had spent a lot of time wandering and eating, since knew so few of the guests. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd been invited since he only knew Pepper in passing and the extent of his conversations with Happy began and ended with, "Good afternoon, Captain Rogers." A smattering of the other Avengers had shown for it, Banner for moral support for Tony and Clint mostly for the food. Thor was in Asgard and had sent his best wishes with some sort of strange plant arrangement.

As Steve walked through the now empty foyer, something crunched under his loafer. He lifted his foot off the Champaign flute and bent to pick up the pieces so the glass wouldn't get ground into the carpet.

"Stark?" Steve called as he set the ragged fragments on a plate with a chicken bone.

The penthouse was silent. Steve took the hallway to the right and followed it down to the room where he'd spent a majority of the evening. The ballroom (Steve had never known someone who had a ballroom in their house before Tony Stark) had a spectacular view, like most of Tony's common areas. It was nestled on the east side of the tower and had a two-story, curved window that looked out at the river.

There were still a dozen round tables set up in the room, littered with dessert plates. Steve gave the dance floor a wide berth as he picked his way through unorganized chairs and white and gold balloons. He wondered where the army of staff was. Tony didn't clean anything himself, at least, Steve assumed he didn't do his own cleaning, but there wasn't a soul in the house that he could tell. The rooms were dark and empty. Tony had probably gone to sleep and didn't want a hundred people making noise as they tidied.

Steve scooped his cell off the filthy, marble bar and stuck the device in his coat pocket. After he pulled his hand out, he realized there was something sticky on the phone's surface. Wrinkling his nose, Steve grabbed the only handful of unused napkins he could find. He wrapped them around the cell before he tucked it away again. He'd clean it later, when he had better light.

With a frown, Steve looked out over the glittering lights of Manhattan. His mind mulled over Tony's public smile. It set off his instincts, telling him that the more 'normal' Tony acted, the more he was hurting. Steve didn't know if he was the best one to give the billionaire comfort, but he wanted to check on him to make sure he wasn't so drunk he'd drown in his own vomit. No one typically experienced that side of Tony. Steve had, once, after Pepper left him. Steve had come over for some other reason, some mission they were working together, and found him passed out on the floor.

Though Steve would never admit it to another living being, it had scared him seeing Tony that way. Tony was always so controlled, even when he was drunk off his ass. Every word was calculated, every movement considered, to get the biggest impact. When Steve held him over a toilet so the billionaire could puke up a stomach-full of liquor, Tony was the most human Steve had ever seen him. It was the first time Steve realized that Tony wore a different mask when he stepped out of the suit. It was a mask that could smile and joke when an ex he still cared about was getting engaged to a friend he'd known for years. Steve was beginning to recognize the front when he saw it.

"Jarvis?" Steve addressed the house computer as his eyes wandered over the Burroughs of New York.

The electronic butler answered him promptly, its voice loud in the unoccupied ballroom, "At your service, Captain Rogers."

"What's his blood-alcohol level?"

He hoped that Tony really had gone to bed and this trip was a waste of time, but he doubted it. Steve was becoming extremely familiar with the reckless hero and his destructive habits.

"Below the legal limit by point three. It's less than it would be on a normal day."

"Is he still drinking?"

The computer paused, simulating a human's thoughtfulness before it reported, "Yes."

Steve sighed and raised an arm to lean on the window, his other hand braced on his hip. His breath fogged the view, but he wasn't really looking at it anymore. This was going to be one of those nights that Tony didn't stop until he was half-blind with alcohol. Steve couldn't leave him alone, "Where is he?"

"On the roof... Sir, in his deteriorating state, I fear he might fall off the railing."

Steve was already moving toward the hall, trying to remember where the stairs to the roof were, but Jarvis's words made his stomach flip, "Don't you mean 'over the railing'?"

"No, sir. He's standing on the railing. 'Off' is the appropriate preposition."

Steve lurched into a sprint. With directions from Jarvis, he found the stairs and lunged up them, taking three at a time. At each landing, he had to grab the railing to sling him onto the next flight so he wouldn't crash into the walls. His heart slammed against his ribcage, but it had nothing to do with exertion. Tony was undeniably self-destructive, but Steve assumed he was too narcissistic to take his own life. Unless it was all part of his front and Steve didn't realize.

Slowing at the ladder that led to the roof hatch, Steve took in a deep breath and held it while he counted to five. If he burst through the door and startled Tony, he might kill him instead of save him. When he reached for the latch, he'd found the calm he used in battle. He pulled the handle down and pushed the hatch open. Screaming wind tried to tear the door out of his hand. He tightened his grip to keep it from banging against the roof.

The highest point of the tower was little more than a postage stamp. It was twelve feet across by about nine feet wide, covered in gravel that still bore the scorch marks from the Tesseract's energy field. Manhattan spread out in every direction as a phosphorescent, unmoving ocean. The space was bordered by a low retaining wall that was only knee-high. Stark was balanced on it with bare feet, the high wind dragging at his clothes and hair with invisible fingers. As the hinges on the hatch squeaked, a bolt of tension moved through Tony's body and he looked over his shoulder. One dark eye caught Steve's gaze, momentarily making the soldier freeze.

"Stark, what're you-"

Tony turned away, his voice nearly lost in the wind, "Do you know what the terminal velocity of a human body is, Cap?"

Bile rose to the back of Steve's throat. He climbed the last few rungs of the ladder, his shoes sinking in the gravel covering of the roof. The powerful air current filled his leather coat and yanked at it harshly. Steve shucked it and threw it into the open hatch so he'd have better balance at the edge. He pushed the sleeves of his plaid button-up to his elbows to minimize the drag, blinking his thrashing bangs out of his eyes.

Not wanting to threaten Tony by moving too quickly, Steve made his way toward him one tiny step at a time. His voice somehow stayed level, though he had to curl his hands against the tremor in his fingers, "Come on, why don't we-"

"It averages about sixty meters per second, or a hundred and thirty-five miles per hour. You have to adjust for dimension and surface area, of course. Some drop as slow as a hundred and seventeen miles an hour while an experienced skydiver can reach speeds of almost two hundred."

Steve could've lived his entire life without knowing those statistics, especially with Stark leaning over the edge as if he was about to demonstrate. When Steve closed his eyes, he saw Bucky falling, hand outstretched, face full of terror. This wasn't the same, but it was.

Steve came around the side so he could look Tony in the eye, but Tony's gaze was fixed on the ocean of lights. There was an empty glass clutched in his hand, two cubes of ice clinking together every time Tony's balance twitched to adjust for the wind.

A little more than an arm's length away, Steve gauged the distance and was certain he could grab Tony if he went over. Unless Tony jumped instead of stepped. Steve slid closer at a snail's pace, "Stark-"

"Don't call me that," Tony murmured.

His deep maroon shirt was unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, the lapels flapping wildly in the updraft from the building. Though the billionaire's face was lit by the reactor's ultra-bright glow, Steve couldn't read his expression. His eyes were dull, almost glassy, and the rest of his face was blank. Shadows filled the hallows of his skull, making him look more ghost than man. When Steve reached a hand out, he was solid under Steve's fingertips. Keeping his touch light, Steve extended his palm at the small of Tony's back.

"Tony," Steve said instead, easing his other hand around Tony's hip. He could feel the protruding edge of bone beneath the slacks and he fit his fingers into the groove. Some small part of him relaxed when he had a good hold on the playboy. "Tony, get down. Making me nervous."

Tony extended his arm, his lips parting as he let the tumbler fall from his hand. Steve's eyes tracked it until it was too small to see, his unsettled stomach taking another turn in his abdomen.

"I thought the star spangled man with a plan didn't get nervous," Tony intoned flatly. The corner of Tony's mouth twitched, the only real emotion Steve had seen since he'd made it to the roof. "It's problematic that the pros outweigh the cons."

"What?"

Tony wavered in Steve's hold and he whipped his hand around to grab the other hip. His fingers splayed across the playboy's low belly, holding as tightly as he could without bruising the skin. Feeling more unsteady than Tony looked, Steve closed his eyes as Tony explained his words.

"The pros versus the cons. You know I can't do anything without considering every angle. I need more cons," the statement fell through his lips as if it was the most normal thing in the world for people to contemplate suicide with a list of good and bad.

Anger and fear flared through Steve. He yanked Tony off the wall, starling a gasp out of the smaller man. Grabbing his shoulders, Steve turned the billionaire and shook him, "Stop it! Listen to yourself! You're life isn't a t-chart."

Tony dropped his eyes. Steve's hold loosened until he was petting Tony's shoulders and back instead of gripping him. There was no fight in him and it was so unlike the Tony Stark he knew that Steve stroked his thumb over the billionaire's high cheekbone.

"Jesus, Tony…"

"Pepper was all I had," Tony slurred at the ground, making Steve's chest ache.

Steve knew what it was like to be alone. He felt the loneliness all the way to his bones when he thought of the people he'd left behind. Facing a new world without the support of family and friends was harder than charging into Hydra's base with just his shield and a pistol. As empty as his apartment felt, he knew Stark Tower had to be worse. It was a hundred and fifty floors of robots and cars and every electronic known, but not a single human body to give it warmth.

Steve released him. Waiting until Tony looked at him, Steve offered his hand, "Like to give you a con."

Tony stared at his palm blearily and backed up a step, "Trust me, Cap, I've got more baggage than you want to deal with."

"Think I don't have my share too?"

Tony's backward motion stopped and Steve exhaled softly. The billionaire's eyes were dark and guarded, but at least they were alert now. "What exactly are you offering me?"

"A connection. Whatever you need me to be," Steve said plainly and extended his hand across the distance between them.

"What if I need more than you can give?"

"Not possible."

Slowly, Tony slid his hand across Steve's palm, accepting his offer of salvation. Steve closed his hand over Tony's and drew him close. He wrapped his arm around Stark's shoulders and pressed his face into the dark tangle of hair, feeling the smaller man relax in his hold. He fear for Tony subsided to the recesses of his mind as he determined that he was never going to let go.

"So, we're going to have to do something about you being a ninety-year-old vir-"

"Don't ruin the moment."

Tony sighed softly into his neck and smiled against Steve's skin. It was genuine, not the mask Steve detested, "But that would be a great con."

"Tony…"


End file.
